Kissing the Bride (Medieval 4)

With more confidence in her step, Jenova moved toward the little group, nodding at Reynard as she passed him. Lord Baldessare turned with a frown, returning her polite greeting with a brusque nod of his head. His daughter, her prettiness clouded by a pale, tired face, echoed the greeting in a subdued voice. Beside her, Alfric bowed and said nothing, his shadowed eyes and white face indicating that he, too, had had very little sleep.

Not a happy gathering, then.

“My lady,” Agetha smiled, but her eyes were watchful. Agetha would not be pleased when she discovered that Jenova meant to sever all ties with Al

fric—he was a great favorite with her. Well, Jenova could not live her life to please her ladies.

“Agetha, would you leave us for a moment. I have something to say to Lord Baldessare.”

The other woman gave her a questioning glance but nodded and retreated reluctantly further down the hall.

“My lord,” Jenova began in a brisk voice, “would you be seated a moment? There is something I must say.”

They were isolated enough that they could converse in private, yet her household was still close enough that Jenova did not feel as if she was under any threat. It was indicative of her change of heart that she even thought of such things; that she was actually considering herself to be in possible danger in her own hall.

“Your servants are disrespectful,” the baron informed her as he sat down heavily on a chair, swirling his cloak about him.

“Agetha is no servant, she is the daughter of—”

“Not that silly little girl. I reprimanded your groom for being too slow with my horse this morning, and he gave me a surly look. Your people need a firm hand; you are too lenient with them. I have found that women always are.”

“Indeed?” Jenova hid her anger, taking her own seat on one end of a bench, while Baldessare’s daughter and son placed themselves at the other end, together, giving the impression that they had formed an alliance against their father.

“Aye, indeed,” Baldessare retorted. “Alfric can help you there, at least. He will know how to deal with your servants, and if he doesn’t, then I will show him.”

The arrogance of the man amazed her. Did he really believe she would allow him to give even one order at Gunlinghorn? He must think her a dolt indeed. Any remaining doubts were fast being replaced by certainty and a sense of relief. She was doing the right thing, and she had best get it over with. Jenova folded her trembling hands firmly together in her lap.

“My lord, I have something of importance to tell you, and I will speak plainly. I cannot wed your son. ’Tis not because he has done or said anything to cause me a dislike of him—never think that. ’Tis just that I have discovered in myself a dissatisfaction with the whole idea of marriage. I do not want to wed again. I do not want to be a bride. I am not yet ready for it, and mayhap I never will be.”

Jenova had been staring into Baldessare’s gray eyes as she’d spoken. She saw comprehension spark, a tiny flame in the familiar coldness, and then it caught and flared and exploded into a truly terrifying blaze of fury. The air about him seemed to hum like a violent, gathering storm.

As her words stumbled to a close, a hushed silence fell. No one spoke, not Alfric and not Rhona. It was as if they were waiting.

The storm broke.

Baldessare sprang to his feet, his face the color of overripe plums, and he began roaring with anger. “What is this? What worm have you in your head, you stupid woman!”

Jenova jumped, her breath catching in her throat. She glanced sideways at Rhona and Alfric, but they had their heads bent, sitting still and silent, as if by doing so they could prevent their father’s anger from settling upon them. Clearly Baldessare was used to getting his own way. Well, thought Jenova, he will not rant and rave here in my hall—he will behave himself or he can leave!

“Do not shout,” she said sternly and also rose to her feet, although her knees were trembling. She was a tall woman, and now she drew herself up proudly. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Reynard was standing, too, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. The knowledge that he was there gave her added strength.

“You will marry my son! You have promised to marry him and you will do so!” Baldessare was beyond reason. His anger was a scalding wave, flattening all within reach.

He took a step toward her. Jenova wondered if it was possible he would strike her, or snap her neck, before her men could stop him. Despite that possibility, she refused to move back. Her own voice lifted, with her courage, to the challenge. “I did not promise any such thing! I did not give my word, and I have signed no marriage contract. I will not marry your son, and you cannot make me.”

“You have lied to me, you bitch, you—”

“I have lied to no one. I have changed my mind.”

Lord Baldessare was so close that she could feel his body shaking with his fury, and his face was mottled with it. “Be very careful, my lady,” he said, his breath heaving in his chest and whistling through his teeth as he attempted to control himself. “Be very careful what you do and say. No woman has ever denied me. I am Baldessare and I will triumph.”

“Are you threatening me?” Jenova demanded, still refusing to step back, although every muscle in her body was screaming at her to do so. “You forget, the king is my friend. If you hurt me, you hurt him. That is treason, my lord.”

Baldessare’s gray eyes narrowed, and he withdrew slightly. His face lost some of its hideous color, and cunning tempered his ardor. Alfric and Rhona remained seated, quaking, leaning against each other as if to gain strength, and even in the throes of her own fear, Jenova found something pitiable in the sight of theirs.

“Jenova?”

Henry! He had come to her after all, and the sound of his voice had never been so welcome. His hand closed on her shoulder, heavy and warm, giving her vigor, assuring her without words of his protection.